Bloom
by naked helot
Summary: Because more than anything else, Reborn knows foolishness when he sees it.
1. bloom

** Bloom**

* * *

><p>Because more than anything else, Reborn knows foolishness when he sees it. He knows that foolishness has a tendency to bloom in any season and he knows its best to pick its ripe fruit with the tender hand of a green-thumbed octogenarian. But he is only 3 feet tall, when measured with a generous ruler, and whilst the harvest awaits, gleaming in the shift-season sun, he is still a seedling under it's stream.<p>

When Yamamoto turns 15, Reborn is 3. When Yamamoto turns 16, Reborn is 3. When Yamamoto turns 17, Reborn is 3.

When Yamamoto thought he was in love with Gokudera, Reborn is 3. When Yamamoto thought he was in love with Hibari, Reborn is 3. When Yamamoto finds himself proven wrong on both accounts, Reborn is 3.

When Yamamato is 17 he kills his first man, split seconds later, he kills his second, third, a minute later he kills his fourth, fifth, Reborn is 3.

After all this, he still plays baseball. He dreams of moving to Tokyo, away from Namimori (Tsuna, Gokudera, Hibari, Mediocrity, Failure) playing in the major leagues. He still laughs and they are full, deep from within and musical in the way that a rooster crows in the morning was an orchestral delight. He dreams of falling in love. Reborn is 3, and only he knows this. So he begins one-on-one training with Yamamoto once more. Tsuyoshi has come to represent what Yamamoto was afraid of, the prospect of glory replaced with the prospect of waking at 3:30 every morning with the only promised adrenaline rush coming at the time of the tuna auctions. Reborn knows what drives Yamamoto and that is the simplicity of the unattainable. Reborn knew a lot of things, his role especially well.

At the crest of Yamamoto's youth, final exams and university entrances looming, the junior league finals less than a fortnight away, scouts from Tokyo dropping by almost every week and the oncoming return of Tsuna, Hibari and Mukuro from a 7 week long mission of utmost secrecy, he turned 17, 5 months, 18 days, 13 hours and give or take 22 minutes. Arbitrary, perhaps.

Reborn turned 22.

He came home later that night, the coach was pushing the team harder than ever and he really wasn't complaining. His heartrate would stay elevated for the rest of the night and the tingling in his arms would refuse to leave, this he could foresee. There was a pain in all the muscles of his legs which he could only describe as amazing and his eyes had a manic gleam. Yamamoto was still in full uniform, hat, long socks and dusty bat when he met Reborn for the first time, seated around his father's sushi counter with the rest of the Vongola Familia. Reborn tipped his hat, Yamamoto grinned.


	2. dead men

**Bloom**

* * *

><p>The saying either goes "dead men tell no lies", or "dead men tell no tales". "Dead men don't talk" would do nicely. So there's proof, surely, besides the steady pulse, the twitching muscles, that lo, behold, Reborn is alive. For most people undergoing a drastic change of stature, any attempt at moving ones limbs would prove only the most inept of co-ordination. But Reborn was an Arcobaleno. Within hours of his release, both he and Colonello manage to slither away from the extremist efforts of Tsuna and his father, painting the town brilliant red. In this small interval, he's had more action than a lifetime could realistically promise timid, Kyoko-struck Tsuna.<p>

A week later, he is re-united with the rest of the Familia, and he finds himself frowning at what the degradation of their abilities. Apparently Vongola Familia could not function without an Arcobaleno. It had only been 4 months.

After some time, (two revolutions of the short hand on Take-sushi's strangely curated cuckoo-clock), Yamamoto ambles in. Reborn tips his hat, Yamamoto grins and tips his, except his baseball cap was positioned in that youthfully backwards way, but a hat-tip is a hat-tip.

The noisy storm-brat says something along the lines of Where have you been, Why are you so late in greeting the Tenth, Congratulate him on the safe return of Reborn, Stupid Baseball Freak, or a variation of thus, Reborn didn't want to pay attention. Hibari does something strange with his face behind his glass of icy plum wine, about which upon inquisition he had replied "There are rules, and then there are stupid words that don't apply to me" but perhaps Reborn was developing tunnel vision, or tunnel hearing or tunnel memory because there should be less words in that sentence, perhaps no words, maybe it had been a singular look, and he really wouldn't be able to recall Hibari's peculiar expression which had coincided with Yamamoto's entrance, if asked, because in the 4 months they were gone, yes Ryohei seemed more incapable than ever and don't even get him started on Lambo and maybe Gokudera's eyebrow (eyebrow, no 's') wasn't a result of bad pyrotechnics but his laudable social skills, who knew, but Yamamoto seemed taller than ever.

Reborn hated missing small things like growth spurts (not-so-small in this case), he mired that Yamamoto would need re-tuning on his fine motor skills.

Yamamoto heads behind the counter, immediately re-filling drinks, plum wine for Hibari, Coke for Gokudera and orange juice for Tsuna and Reborn engages in small talk that was far different from the dialogue running through his head.

He stares at Yamamoto's hands- large knuckles, long thumbs, fingernails so short no dirt should get stuck in them, and yet, they were still gritty- as he pours a saucer of warm Sake meant for the man in the fedora, and asks him how his swordsmanship is. Indeed, Reborn was far from a dead man.

Yamamoto gives him one corner of an upturned lip, "Why don't you ever ask me about baseball?"


	3. cue

**Bloom**

* * *

><p>But it gets late, even for Friday night standards, and the group has to move. Tsuyoshi sends his son along to have some weekend fun, and Reborn ends up directing them to a small bar near Namimori station, the type where you have to go down a long set of downwards steps, and the windows are stuck to the seam of the wall and the ceiling but for what purpose because it seems that any of the light wanted in here has been trapped long ago; has become so heavy that it moves slowly, dimly across the fields of dust-motes, the presence of which suggest, along with the general feel of the place that there should be some burgundy velvet drapery and leather Louis XIV arm chairs to lounge on. But no, there are brushed steel stools with fake elephant hide pintacked to yellowed foam cushions, a cherry-wood finish on the bar, definitely in bad taste, and a surprisingly well kept pool table with the Varia playing what could only be called an intense game. Gokudera voices a want for Coke, this time with the gin he was too shy (too much of a pussy) to ask for at Yamamoto's, loudly wondering where the owner is to serve him his drink.<p>

"He wanted some sleep so we sent him to bed, good man allowed us to use his digs though," Squalo answers since Xanxus is both too busy cueing up and knows nothing of the atoms that make up Gokudera's self.

Reborn makes his presence known by dropping some coins in the retro juke-box. An American folk song starts playing and Squalo snarls, failing to sink the ball. Yamamoto is doing well to attract little attention, only the crown of his head visible. His fingers work quickly at an outdated prepaid phone, one that came from a time where phones weren't also computers, or maps, or cameras, and the best game you could play was Logic... which Yamamoto never really understood how to play. Bel is finishing the game in smooth strides, and Squalo casts both Reborn and the box a dirty stare as he makes his way over.

He leans onto Yamamoto's left shoulder, his nose scrunching up just a bit when he notices he's making contact with _that_ uniform, but he presses on, and tilts his head so Yamamoto stops playing with his phone and starts looking at him, and the curtain of his hair shields any other observation that Reborn could visibly make, but he does hear "You're not ditching us for Logic, are you?"

Yamamato chuckles his chuckle and replies in jive "It's one of the few games I've never figured out the point to!"

They keep whispering - It's pointless, play some pool instead, we both know that you're hands are good with wooden sticks, and a sudden stillness accumulates in the space that Yamamoto takes up, one that warrants a slight shift of sight from the Varia boss himself, before he goes on to break.

Yamamoto gets up with no further ceremony, and the wall of Squalo's hair ripples gently for him to pass "Hey let me join this game," as Hibari finishes the perfect blue on the tip of his cue. Squalo pops another few hundred into the jukebox, as Reborn's songs ended a while ago. Reborn continues to bristle as Squalo saunters past him, his cue a mic "_There is no god up in the sky tonight, no sign of heaven anywhere in sight_" Bel starts to laugh, gyrating on his own cue "_All that was true is left behind_, _once I could see now I am blind_" and a striped ball is launched towards his head but he quickly performs a dipping manoeuvre and Squalo stops his god-awful rasping to laugh, revelling in projectiles being hurled at someone that isn't him.

Yamamoto sinks a ball between "This disease I give to myself" and another two at both re-iterations of "How does it feel".

–

The game finishes as soon as the song does, Yamamoto watching Hibari sink the final black, and Hibari watching him.

"..._to you._"

–

Hibari goes home first, followed by Tsuna and Gokudera, and as Reborn disappears with the Varia, Yamamoto walks home on his own, losing at Logic on his very old phone. He opens the option menu and spots the Stats link under his intended Restart button. He smiles carelessly, knowing that's one button he would never press. He flips the first block over.


End file.
